The unsung heroes of the Aids pandemic

[Guest guest]

The unsung heroes of the Aids pandemic .

The scourge has destroyed the family structure, leaving grandparents

to care for orphans, writes Lillian Aluanga

Mama Rispa Amuom and her granddaughter, Iska Anyango, 13, in Nyalkinyi

VillageMs ina Awino is hungry. It is well after 2pm and she has

had nothing to eat since morning.

For more than two hours, she has been lying under a tree outside her

hut, away from the scorching heat in Homa Bay District's Kogelo

Kalanya area – hoping.

Awino is hoping for many things. She is hoping that God will give her

more years to take care of her grandchildren, that her aching back

will give her a moment's peace and that her grandchildren return home

before dusk.

She is also hoping that a Good Samaritan will drop by with some little

flour or omena for the family's evening meal. But most of all, the

octogenarian is hoping for a miracle. She expects a miracle that will

result in the development of a cure for Aids, to end the suffering of

millions.

She knows only too well how devastating Aids can be. There was a time

she had 11 children. Now she has none. At least five of them died from

Aids related complications.

All she has now are memories of her children and the eager searching

faces of her four orphaned grandchildren whom she has been raising for

the past three years.

Awino is one of an increasing number of elderly people bearing the

brunt of the effects of Aids in a continent that accounts for over 60

per cent of more than 38million global HIV infections.

Mama Ogende who takes care of her orphaned grandchildren in

Kogelo Kalanya village. Ever since the first cases of Aids were

reported in the 1980s scientists have worked overtime, conducting

studies, running trials, developing tools of prevention and striving

towards finding a cure. Reduced infection rates, access to ARV

treatment and prevention of mother to child transmission of the virus

have all been achieved in more than 20 years of battling the disease.

But behind these gains lies the devastation the virus has wrought on

families.

At the sound of her grand daughters, Akinyi and Makril Adhiambo,

returning home from the river, Awino struggles to sit up. She slowly

raises her head from her 'pillow' — the bottom of what was once a

straw basket used for storing grain – and rests her bony hands on the

sides of the reed mat she has been lying on.

" My back has been aching for a while but there has been no money to go

to hospital, " Awino says, beckoning her granddaughters to her side.

Her face lights up as she fusses over the children. Are they tired?

Had they found something to eat? Did they get enough water? The

children obviously adore their grandmother and snuggle close her. She

is the only 'parent' they have left.

" I am too weak and old to work. If I had the strength I would do all

that I could to see that these children never sleep hungry and that

they get a good education, " Awino says.

Hunger has been a constant companion for Awino and her grandchildren.

Tea is a luxury that rarely graces the table and Awino has taken to

jealously guarding the little millet flour saved from the last

harvest. They must not " waste " it. That means that porridge is also

rare.

Akinyi, a shy girl of 13, recalls the last time she tasted chicken. It

was last year, during Christmas when a neighbour brought them some,

all in the season's spirit of good cheer.

Awino is haunted by the fate of her grandchildren when she dies. She

stares at the clear skies as if seeking for some assurance but there

is none. She shields her eyes from the sun and surveys the compound

for a while. The weather is no longer favourable.

Not too far from where Awino sits, some whittling stalks of maize sway

in the wind just a few metres away from a huge boulder where a green

tunic has been spread to dry. An agulu (a large earthen pot used for

storing water) stands outside her hut, half empty.

Mama ine Awino and her orphaned granddaughters Makril Adhiambo,

eight, and Akinyi, 13, at Kogelo Kalanya village, Homa Bay

District. Awino, who is ailing, is the breadwinner of the family. " My

daughters are dead. I know it is Aids that killed them. Had they been

alive, we would not be sleeping hungry, " Awino says resignedly.

She does not know her age but says she was born at a time when the

Europeans were fighting a 'big war'. Her neighbours estimate it was

sometime just before World War One. " I pray everyday and ask God to

give me some more time so that I can take care of these children until

they are grown, " Awino says, as she smiles at Adhiambo, eight.

The two girls have an elder sister. She is living with a relative who

offered to take her for a tailoring course. Awino's two grandsons are

not home on this afternoon. They are out somewhere in the village,

probably looking for odd jobs to do for some little money to feed the

family.

An eerie silence hangs over the deserted compound. Where once stood a

sturdy iron-roofed hut now stands a patch of prickly grass. The house,

after many months of neglect and disuse following the occupants'

death, simply crumbled.

It is scene that is replicated in many local homesteads.

Another deserted compound and several crumbling homes greet visitors

to Ms Rispa Amuom's abode in Nyalkinyi area.

Of the four huts at the entrance to the compound only one is occupied.

The structures once housed her son and his two wives. All three are

now dead. It is in one of these houses where her four orphaned

grandchildren now live. A few metres away from the houses stands a

granary sheltered under a canopy of trees.

It is empty.

The unpredictable weather patterns and showers have made it difficult

to fill the food store. " It did not rain as much as we had expected

and the crops failed, " Amuom says, wiping off sweat from her furrowed

face.

Of her nine children, only two are alive. " I have watched my children

die, one after the other, and I have watched their husbands and wives

die too, " Amuom says.

She, too, has known the joy of being a mother and nursed dreams of

having her children take care of her in her old age.

Amuom leans back in her worn out seat, stretches out her cracked feet

cushioned by a pair of torn blue bathroom slippers and draws the edges

of her tattered wrap closer.

Amuom, like Awino, is worried about what will happen to her

grandchildren when she is gone.

But besides that, she is worried about the younger children's health.

" The youngest one got a very bad rash and I was told it was measles.

The second one coughs a lot too but I do not have money to take him to

hospital " Amuom says.

Midway through the conversation, her granddaughter, Iska Anyango, 13,

emerges from the scarcely furnished house. She grabs a jerry can, and

makes her way to the river.

" My children and their spouses just started falling sick. At first I

did not know what it was but I was later told it is 'this disease'

that has come, " she says.

" Others died, followed by their wives and children not too long

after, " she adds. Food is scarce but when it comes by, the cooking is

done in Amuom's kitchen before she gathers the children and shares out

the vegetables and ugali.

" Porridge? I cannot afford to give them porridge for breakfast every

morning. The children have learnt not to expect too much and they take

it when it is there. Other times, they simply dress and go to school, "

she says.

But Ms Ogende hope of her grandson, Ogaga, going to

secondary school, crumbled soon after he sat for his Kenya Certificate

of Primary Education examination. Having scored 275 out of the 500

marks, Ogaga had to settle for training as a mechanic's apprentice

since there was no money to pay for his high school fee.

Two years later, Ogaga, an orphan, no longer nurses dreams of going

back to school. " Who will take care of my dani (grandmother) and my

two sisters? " he poses.

Once, Ogende had six children. Now only one is alive. " By the time my

children were dying they were very sick. Some had tuberculosis and

coughed a lot. I know it is aids that killed them, " Ogende says.

Ogende has not only lost her children but has had to endure the pain

of seeing some of her grandchildren succumb to aids related

complications. " I have lost two grandchildren, aged three and four, to

Aids, " she says.

Pictures of her dead son, Ogaga's father, donning prison guard's

uniform, adorn the walls of Ogende's house. He had four children.

Ogaga's sister, 9, and the two toddlers are now deceased. Ogende

nostalgically recalls life when her children were alive.

Then, she rarely lacked sugar, cooking oil or tealeaves. But now

things are different. " I have nothing. The best I can do is take care

of these children and preserve the memory of their parents, " Ogende

says.

" I have faith that God will help me take care of them because I know I

must be strong. I must stay strong for these children because I know

they are depending on me. I know that I am all they have, " he says.

The scourge has destroyed the family structure, leaving grandparents

to care for orphans, writes Lillian Aluanga

Mama Rispa Amuom and her granddaughter, Iska Anyango, 13, in Nyalkinyi

VillageMs ina Awino is hungry. It is well after 2pm and she has

had nothing to eat since morning.

For more than two hours, she has been lying under a tree outside her

hut, away from the scorching heat in Homa Bay District's Kogelo

Kalanya area – hoping.

Awino is hoping for many things. She is hoping that God will give her

more years to take care of her grandchildren, that her aching back

will give her a moment's peace and that her grandchildren return home

before dusk.

She is also hoping that a Good Samaritan will drop by with some little

flour or omena for the family's evening meal. But most of all, the

octogenarian is hoping for a miracle. She expects a miracle that will

result in the development of a cure for Aids, to end the suffering of

millions.

She knows only too well how devastating Aids can be. There was a time

she had 11 children. Now she has none. At least five of them died from

Aids related complications.

All she has now are memories of her children and the eager searching

faces of her four orphaned grandchildren whom she has been raising for

the past three years.

Awino is one of an increasing number of elderly people bearing the

brunt of the effects of Aids in a continent that accounts for over 60

per cent of more than 38million global HIV infections.

Mama Ogende who takes care of her orphaned grandchildren in

Kogelo Kalanya village. Ever since the first cases of Aids were

reported in the 1980s scientists have worked overtime, conducting

studies, running trials, developing tools of prevention and striving

towards finding a cure. Reduced infection rates, access to ARV

treatment and prevention of mother to child transmission of the virus

have all been achieved in more than 20 years of battling the disease.

But behind these gains lies the devastation the virus has wrought on

families.

At the sound of her grand daughters, Akinyi and Makril Adhiambo,

returning home from the river, Awino struggles to sit up. She slowly

raises her head from her 'pillow' — the bottom of what was once a

straw basket used for storing grain – and rests her bony hands on the

sides of the reed mat she has been lying on.

" My back has been aching for a while but there has been no money to go

to hospital, " Awino says, beckoning her granddaughters to her side.

Her face lights up as she fusses over the children. Are they tired?

Had they found something to eat? Did they get enough water? The

children obviously adore their grandmother and snuggle close her. She

is the only 'parent' they have left.

" I am too weak and old to work. If I had the strength I would do all

that I could to see that these children never sleep hungry and that

they get a good education, " Awino says.

Hunger has been a constant companion for Awino and her grandchildren.

Tea is a luxury that rarely graces the table and Awino has taken to

jealously guarding the little millet flour saved from the last

harvest. They must not " waste " it. That means that porridge is also

rare.

Akinyi, a shy girl of 13, recalls the last time she tasted chicken. It

was last year, during Christmas when a neighbour brought them some,

all in the season's spirit of good cheer.

Awino is haunted by the fate of her grandchildren when she dies. She

stares at the clear skies as if seeking for some assurance but there

is none. She shields her eyes from the sun and surveys the compound

for a while. The weather is no longer favourable.

Not too far from where Awino sits, some whittling stalks of maize sway

in the wind just a few metres away from a huge boulder where a green

tunic has been spread to dry. An agulu (a large earthen pot used for

storing water) stands outside her hut, half empty.

Mama ine Awino and her orphaned granddaughters Makril Adhiambo,

eight, and Akinyi, 13, at Kogelo Kalanya village, Homa Bay

District. Awino, who is ailing, is the breadwinner of the family. " My

daughters are dead. I know it is Aids that killed them. Had they been

alive, we would not be sleeping hungry, " Awino says resignedly.

She does not know her age but says she was born at a time when the

Europeans were fighting a 'big war'. Her neighbours estimate it was

sometime just before World War One. " I pray everyday and ask God to

give me some more time so that I can take care of these children until

they are grown, " Awino says, as she smiles at Adhiambo, eight.

The two girls have an elder sister. She is living with a relative who

offered to take her for a tailoring course. Awino's two grandsons are

not home on this afternoon. They are out somewhere in the village,

probably looking for odd jobs to do for some little money to feed the

family.

An eerie silence hangs over the deserted compound. Where once stood a

sturdy iron-roofed hut now stands a patch of prickly grass. The house,

after many months of neglect and disuse following the occupants'

death, simply crumbled.

It is scene that is replicated in many local homesteads.

Another deserted compound and several crumbling homes greet visitors

to Ms Rispa Amuom's abode in Nyalkinyi area.

Of the four huts at the entrance to the compound only one is occupied.

The structures once housed her son and his two wives. All three are

now dead. It is in one of these houses where her four orphaned

grandchildren now live. A few metres away from the houses stands a

granary sheltered under a canopy of trees.

It is empty.

The unpredictable weather patterns and showers have made it difficult

to fill the food store. " It did not rain as much as we had expected

and the crops failed, " Amuom says, wiping off sweat from her furrowed

face.

Of her nine children, only two are alive. " I have watched my children

die, one after the other, and I have watched their husbands and wives

die too, " Amuom says.

She, too, has known the joy of being a mother and nursed dreams of

having her children take care of her in her old age.

Amuom leans back in her worn out seat, stretches out her cracked feet

cushioned by a pair of torn blue bathroom slippers and draws the edges

of her tattered wrap closer.

Amuom, like Awino, is worried about what will happen to her

grandchildren when she is gone.

But besides that, she is worried about the younger children's health.

" The youngest one got a very bad rash and I was told it was measles.

The second one coughs a lot too but I do not have money to take him to

hospital " Amuom says.

Midway through the conversation, her granddaughter, Iska Anyango, 13,

emerges from the scarcely furnished house. She grabs a jerry can, and

makes her way to the river.

" My children and their spouses just started falling sick. At first I

did not know what it was but I was later told it is 'this disease'

that has come, " she says.

" Others died, followed by their wives and children not too long

after, " she adds. Food is scarce but when it comes by, the cooking is

done in Amuom's kitchen before she gathers the children and shares out

the vegetables and ugali.

" Porridge? I cannot afford to give them porridge for breakfast every

morning. The children have learnt not to expect too much and they take

it when it is there. Other times, they simply dress and go to school, "

she says.

But Ms Ogende hope of her grandson, Ogaga, going to

secondary school, crumbled soon after he sat for his Kenya Certificate

of Primary Education examination. Having scored 275 out of the 500

marks, Ogaga had to settle for training as a mechanic's apprentice

since there was no money to pay for his high school fee.

Two years later, Ogaga, an orphan, no longer nurses dreams of going

back to school. " Who will take care of my dani (grandmother) and my

two sisters? " he poses.

Once, Ogende had six children. Now only one is alive. " By the time my

children were dying they were very sick. Some had tuberculosis and

coughed a lot. I know it is aids that killed them, " Ogende says.

Ogende has not only lost her children but has had to endure the pain

of seeing some of her grandchildren succumb to aids related

complications. " I have lost two grandchildren, aged three and four, to

Aids, " she says.

Pictures of her dead son, Ogaga's father, donning prison guard's

uniform, adorn the walls of Ogende's house. He had four children.

Ogaga's sister, 9, and the two toddlers are now deceased. Ogende

nostalgically recalls life when her children were alive.

Then, she rarely lacked sugar, cooking oil or tealeaves. But now

things are different. " I have nothing. The best I can do is take care

of these children and preserve the memory of their parents, " Ogende

says.

" I have faith that God will help me take care of them because I know I

must be strong. I must stay strong for these children because I know

they are depending on me. I know that I am all they have, " he says.

________________________________

[Guest guest]

The unsung heroes of the Aids pandemic .

The scourge has destroyed the family structure, leaving grandparents

to care for orphans, writes Lillian Aluanga

Mama Rispa Amuom and her granddaughter, Iska Anyango, 13, in Nyalkinyi

VillageMs ina Awino is hungry. It is well after 2pm and she has

had nothing to eat since morning.

For more than two hours, she has been lying under a tree outside her

hut, away from the scorching heat in Homa Bay District's Kogelo

Kalanya area – hoping.

Awino is hoping for many things. She is hoping that God will give her

more years to take care of her grandchildren, that her aching back

will give her a moment's peace and that her grandchildren return home

before dusk.

She is also hoping that a Good Samaritan will drop by with some little

flour or omena for the family's evening meal. But most of all, the

octogenarian is hoping for a miracle. She expects a miracle that will

result in the development of a cure for Aids, to end the suffering of

millions.

She knows only too well how devastating Aids can be. There was a time

she had 11 children. Now she has none. At least five of them died from

Aids related complications.

All she has now are memories of her children and the eager searching

faces of her four orphaned grandchildren whom she has been raising for

the past three years.

Awino is one of an increasing number of elderly people bearing the

brunt of the effects of Aids in a continent that accounts for over 60

per cent of more than 38million global HIV infections.

Mama Ogende who takes care of her orphaned grandchildren in

Kogelo Kalanya village. Ever since the first cases of Aids were

reported in the 1980s scientists have worked overtime, conducting

studies, running trials, developing tools of prevention and striving

towards finding a cure. Reduced infection rates, access to ARV

treatment and prevention of mother to child transmission of the virus

have all been achieved in more than 20 years of battling the disease.

But behind these gains lies the devastation the virus has wrought on

families.

At the sound of her grand daughters, Akinyi and Makril Adhiambo,

returning home from the river, Awino struggles to sit up. She slowly

raises her head from her 'pillow' — the bottom of what was once a

straw basket used for storing grain – and rests her bony hands on the

sides of the reed mat she has been lying on.

" My back has been aching for a while but there has been no money to go

to hospital, " Awino says, beckoning her granddaughters to her side.

Her face lights up as she fusses over the children. Are they tired?

Had they found something to eat? Did they get enough water? The

children obviously adore their grandmother and snuggle close her. She

is the only 'parent' they have left.

" I am too weak and old to work. If I had the strength I would do all

that I could to see that these children never sleep hungry and that

they get a good education, " Awino says.

Hunger has been a constant companion for Awino and her grandchildren.

Tea is a luxury that rarely graces the table and Awino has taken to

jealously guarding the little millet flour saved from the last

harvest. They must not " waste " it. That means that porridge is also

rare.

Akinyi, a shy girl of 13, recalls the last time she tasted chicken. It

was last year, during Christmas when a neighbour brought them some,

all in the season's spirit of good cheer.

Awino is haunted by the fate of her grandchildren when she dies. She

stares at the clear skies as if seeking for some assurance but there

is none. She shields her eyes from the sun and surveys the compound

for a while. The weather is no longer favourable.

Not too far from where Awino sits, some whittling stalks of maize sway

in the wind just a few metres away from a huge boulder where a green

tunic has been spread to dry. An agulu (a large earthen pot used for

storing water) stands outside her hut, half empty.

Mama ine Awino and her orphaned granddaughters Makril Adhiambo,

eight, and Akinyi, 13, at Kogelo Kalanya village, Homa Bay

District. Awino, who is ailing, is the breadwinner of the family. " My

daughters are dead. I know it is Aids that killed them. Had they been

alive, we would not be sleeping hungry, " Awino says resignedly.

She does not know her age but says she was born at a time when the

Europeans were fighting a 'big war'. Her neighbours estimate it was

sometime just before World War One. " I pray everyday and ask God to

give me some more time so that I can take care of these children until

they are grown, " Awino says, as she smiles at Adhiambo, eight.

The two girls have an elder sister. She is living with a relative who

offered to take her for a tailoring course. Awino's two grandsons are

not home on this afternoon. They are out somewhere in the village,

probably looking for odd jobs to do for some little money to feed the

family.

An eerie silence hangs over the deserted compound. Where once stood a

sturdy iron-roofed hut now stands a patch of prickly grass. The house,

after many months of neglect and disuse following the occupants'

death, simply crumbled.

It is scene that is replicated in many local homesteads.

Another deserted compound and several crumbling homes greet visitors

to Ms Rispa Amuom's abode in Nyalkinyi area.

Of the four huts at the entrance to the compound only one is occupied.

The structures once housed her son and his two wives. All three are

now dead. It is in one of these houses where her four orphaned

grandchildren now live. A few metres away from the houses stands a

granary sheltered under a canopy of trees.

It is empty.

The unpredictable weather patterns and showers have made it difficult

to fill the food store. " It did not rain as much as we had expected

and the crops failed, " Amuom says, wiping off sweat from her furrowed

face.

Of her nine children, only two are alive. " I have watched my children

die, one after the other, and I have watched their husbands and wives

die too, " Amuom says.

She, too, has known the joy of being a mother and nursed dreams of

having her children take care of her in her old age.

Amuom leans back in her worn out seat, stretches out her cracked feet

cushioned by a pair of torn blue bathroom slippers and draws the edges

of her tattered wrap closer.

Amuom, like Awino, is worried about what will happen to her

grandchildren when she is gone.

But besides that, she is worried about the younger children's health.

" The youngest one got a very bad rash and I was told it was measles.

The second one coughs a lot too but I do not have money to take him to

hospital " Amuom says.

Midway through the conversation, her granddaughter, Iska Anyango, 13,

emerges from the scarcely furnished house. She grabs a jerry can, and

makes her way to the river.

" My children and their spouses just started falling sick. At first I

did not know what it was but I was later told it is 'this disease'

that has come, " she says.

" Others died, followed by their wives and children not too long

after, " she adds. Food is scarce but when it comes by, the cooking is

done in Amuom's kitchen before she gathers the children and shares out

the vegetables and ugali.

" Porridge? I cannot afford to give them porridge for breakfast every

morning. The children have learnt not to expect too much and they take

it when it is there. Other times, they simply dress and go to school, "

she says.

But Ms Ogende hope of her grandson, Ogaga, going to

secondary school, crumbled soon after he sat for his Kenya Certificate

of Primary Education examination. Having scored 275 out of the 500

marks, Ogaga had to settle for training as a mechanic's apprentice

since there was no money to pay for his high school fee.

Two years later, Ogaga, an orphan, no longer nurses dreams of going

back to school. " Who will take care of my dani (grandmother) and my

two sisters? " he poses.

Once, Ogende had six children. Now only one is alive. " By the time my

children were dying they were very sick. Some had tuberculosis and

coughed a lot. I know it is aids that killed them, " Ogende says.

Ogende has not only lost her children but has had to endure the pain

of seeing some of her grandchildren succumb to aids related

complications. " I have lost two grandchildren, aged three and four, to

Aids, " she says.

Pictures of her dead son, Ogaga's father, donning prison guard's

uniform, adorn the walls of Ogende's house. He had four children.

Ogaga's sister, 9, and the two toddlers are now deceased. Ogende

nostalgically recalls life when her children were alive.

Then, she rarely lacked sugar, cooking oil or tealeaves. But now

things are different. " I have nothing. The best I can do is take care

of these children and preserve the memory of their parents, " Ogende

says.

" I have faith that God will help me take care of them because I know I

must be strong. I must stay strong for these children because I know

they are depending on me. I know that I am all they have, " he says.

The scourge has destroyed the family structure, leaving grandparents

to care for orphans, writes Lillian Aluanga

Mama Rispa Amuom and her granddaughter, Iska Anyango, 13, in Nyalkinyi

VillageMs ina Awino is hungry. It is well after 2pm and she has

had nothing to eat since morning.

For more than two hours, she has been lying under a tree outside her

hut, away from the scorching heat in Homa Bay District's Kogelo

Kalanya area – hoping.

Awino is hoping for many things. She is hoping that God will give her

more years to take care of her grandchildren, that her aching back

will give her a moment's peace and that her grandchildren return home

before dusk.

She is also hoping that a Good Samaritan will drop by with some little

flour or omena for the family's evening meal. But most of all, the

octogenarian is hoping for a miracle. She expects a miracle that will

result in the development of a cure for Aids, to end the suffering of

millions.

She knows only too well how devastating Aids can be. There was a time

she had 11 children. Now she has none. At least five of them died from

Aids related complications.

All she has now are memories of her children and the eager searching

faces of her four orphaned grandchildren whom she has been raising for

the past three years.

Awino is one of an increasing number of elderly people bearing the

brunt of the effects of Aids in a continent that accounts for over 60

per cent of more than 38million global HIV infections.

Mama Ogende who takes care of her orphaned grandchildren in

Kogelo Kalanya village. Ever since the first cases of Aids were

reported in the 1980s scientists have worked overtime, conducting

studies, running trials, developing tools of prevention and striving

towards finding a cure. Reduced infection rates, access to ARV

treatment and prevention of mother to child transmission of the virus

have all been achieved in more than 20 years of battling the disease.

But behind these gains lies the devastation the virus has wrought on

families.

At the sound of her grand daughters, Akinyi and Makril Adhiambo,

returning home from the river, Awino struggles to sit up. She slowly

raises her head from her 'pillow' — the bottom of what was once a

straw basket used for storing grain – and rests her bony hands on the

sides of the reed mat she has been lying on.

" My back has been aching for a while but there has been no money to go

to hospital, " Awino says, beckoning her granddaughters to her side.

Her face lights up as she fusses over the children. Are they tired?

Had they found something to eat? Did they get enough water? The

children obviously adore their grandmother and snuggle close her. She

is the only 'parent' they have left.

" I am too weak and old to work. If I had the strength I would do all

that I could to see that these children never sleep hungry and that

they get a good education, " Awino says.

Hunger has been a constant companion for Awino and her grandchildren.

Tea is a luxury that rarely graces the table and Awino has taken to

jealously guarding the little millet flour saved from the last

harvest. They must not " waste " it. That means that porridge is also

rare.

Akinyi, a shy girl of 13, recalls the last time she tasted chicken. It

was last year, during Christmas when a neighbour brought them some,

all in the season's spirit of good cheer.

Awino is haunted by the fate of her grandchildren when she dies. She

stares at the clear skies as if seeking for some assurance but there

is none. She shields her eyes from the sun and surveys the compound

for a while. The weather is no longer favourable.

Not too far from where Awino sits, some whittling stalks of maize sway

in the wind just a few metres away from a huge boulder where a green

tunic has been spread to dry. An agulu (a large earthen pot used for

storing water) stands outside her hut, half empty.

Mama ine Awino and her orphaned granddaughters Makril Adhiambo,

eight, and Akinyi, 13, at Kogelo Kalanya village, Homa Bay

District. Awino, who is ailing, is the breadwinner of the family. " My

daughters are dead. I know it is Aids that killed them. Had they been

alive, we would not be sleeping hungry, " Awino says resignedly.

She does not know her age but says she was born at a time when the

Europeans were fighting a 'big war'. Her neighbours estimate it was

sometime just before World War One. " I pray everyday and ask God to

give me some more time so that I can take care of these children until

they are grown, " Awino says, as she smiles at Adhiambo, eight.

The two girls have an elder sister. She is living with a relative who

offered to take her for a tailoring course. Awino's two grandsons are

not home on this afternoon. They are out somewhere in the village,

probably looking for odd jobs to do for some little money to feed the

family.

An eerie silence hangs over the deserted compound. Where once stood a

sturdy iron-roofed hut now stands a patch of prickly grass. The house,

after many months of neglect and disuse following the occupants'

death, simply crumbled.

It is scene that is replicated in many local homesteads.

Another deserted compound and several crumbling homes greet visitors

to Ms Rispa Amuom's abode in Nyalkinyi area.

Of the four huts at the entrance to the compound only one is occupied.

The structures once housed her son and his two wives. All three are

now dead. It is in one of these houses where her four orphaned

grandchildren now live. A few metres away from the houses stands a

granary sheltered under a canopy of trees.

It is empty.

The unpredictable weather patterns and showers have made it difficult

to fill the food store. " It did not rain as much as we had expected

and the crops failed, " Amuom says, wiping off sweat from her furrowed

face.

Of her nine children, only two are alive. " I have watched my children

die, one after the other, and I have watched their husbands and wives

die too, " Amuom says.

She, too, has known the joy of being a mother and nursed dreams of

having her children take care of her in her old age.

Amuom leans back in her worn out seat, stretches out her cracked feet

cushioned by a pair of torn blue bathroom slippers and draws the edges

of her tattered wrap closer.

Amuom, like Awino, is worried about what will happen to her

grandchildren when she is gone.

But besides that, she is worried about the younger children's health.

" The youngest one got a very bad rash and I was told it was measles.

The second one coughs a lot too but I do not have money to take him to

hospital " Amuom says.

Midway through the conversation, her granddaughter, Iska Anyango, 13,

emerges from the scarcely furnished house. She grabs a jerry can, and

makes her way to the river.

" My children and their spouses just started falling sick. At first I

did not know what it was but I was later told it is 'this disease'

that has come, " she says.

" Others died, followed by their wives and children not too long

after, " she adds. Food is scarce but when it comes by, the cooking is

done in Amuom's kitchen before she gathers the children and shares out

the vegetables and ugali.

" Porridge? I cannot afford to give them porridge for breakfast every

morning. The children have learnt not to expect too much and they take

it when it is there. Other times, they simply dress and go to school, "

she says.

But Ms Ogende hope of her grandson, Ogaga, going to

secondary school, crumbled soon after he sat for his Kenya Certificate

of Primary Education examination. Having scored 275 out of the 500

marks, Ogaga had to settle for training as a mechanic's apprentice

since there was no money to pay for his high school fee.

Two years later, Ogaga, an orphan, no longer nurses dreams of going

back to school. " Who will take care of my dani (grandmother) and my

two sisters? " he poses.

Once, Ogende had six children. Now only one is alive. " By the time my

children were dying they were very sick. Some had tuberculosis and

coughed a lot. I know it is aids that killed them, " Ogende says.

Ogende has not only lost her children but has had to endure the pain

of seeing some of her grandchildren succumb to aids related

complications. " I have lost two grandchildren, aged three and four, to

Aids, " she says.

Pictures of her dead son, Ogaga's father, donning prison guard's

uniform, adorn the walls of Ogende's house. He had four children.

Ogaga's sister, 9, and the two toddlers are now deceased. Ogende

nostalgically recalls life when her children were alive.

Then, she rarely lacked sugar, cooking oil or tealeaves. But now

things are different. " I have nothing. The best I can do is take care

of these children and preserve the memory of their parents, " Ogende

says.

" I have faith that God will help me take care of them because I know I

must be strong. I must stay strong for these children because I know

they are depending on me. I know that I am all they have, " he says.

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